watch me fall apart
by colorshow
Summary: When she was younger she dreamed of escaping Winterfell, becoming the princess she was destined to be, and marrying the Prince of her dreams. In reality she escaped the only place she belonged, the only place she was happy, and was betrothed to a Prince who most certainly did not come from her dreams, but a demented sort of hell. canon divergence/future fic


a/n: first time dabbling in this fandom, but this demanded to be written! let me know any opinions and thoughts!

* * *

Sansa is miserable in the Eyrie. It is better than King's Landing, but still.

Each day she feels a sharp pain in her chest, because there is no Winterfell anymore, each Stark is dead or rumored to be.

Her home, her Winterfell, is gone.

When she was younger she dreamed of escaping Winterfell, becoming the princess she was destined to be, and marrying the Prince of her dreams.

In reality she escaped the only place she belonged, the only place she was happy, and was betrothed to a Prince who most certainly did not come from her dreams, but a demented sort of hell.

She is done with princes, with dreams; there is only reality now, and prayers that her family is still alive. (Though her prayers no longer convince her).

Robert, although sickly, she gets along marginally well with. He's family, she no longer has many family members left and she cannot help but take comfort in spending time with the boy. Her Aunt Lysa acts kind in a way Sansa can tell is forced, it's not as if she likes Littlefinger's eyes on her either.

It makes her cringe still when she hears them fucking through the walls, it just causes her to read her book out loud and not in her head. It continues long after she's gone to bed.

She chastises herself for crying, but the salty tears feel at home against her skin, and she only cries harder when she imagines Lady licking them from her cheeks.

There is no Winterfell, there is no home.

* * *

The day she had dyed her hair she'd been strong, crying over her hair's color was petty, not when her sister might be dead and she was still alive.

Being a bastard is a small comfort, for once she isn't important. It's nicer than she would have ever thought.

The woman named Brienne of Tarth comes on a dreary day (but it is always dreary in the Eyrie), Alayne, as usual, is called to serve. Her squire accompanies her, looking uncomfortable, it makes her smile. She's seen enough cruel men to know when one is not.

If the faces were familiar it might not come as a surprise but when she hears the hushed "Sansa Stark" fall from the woman's lips the wine pitcher falls from her hands, creating a puddle on the floor. It looks like blood. Blood, blood, blood, because her family always seems to bled at the hands of another for reasons unjust.

Littlefinger gives her a harsh look and Robert laughs from down the table, he is mocking her. What an awful child. He is no Rickon, no Bran, or even Arya who was adorable even though Sansa herself never would have admitted it in her youth.

Muttering an apology Littlefinger reprimands her "Go clean that up Alayne."

The woman hurriedly stands up, Sansa might of mistaken her for a man, but only a woman would hold the calm fierceness she does. "No, you are Sansa Stark, are you not? I will not hurt you child."

Alayne shakes her head, she is no longer Sansa Stark and she'd do best to remember that. Her brain acts on impulse and she hurries from the room, she pretends not to hear Littlefinger and Lysa sooth the woman.

* * *

At night she likes to sit on the rocks outside and stare at the stars. It makes her feel closer to something, her family, her future, her death, she doesn't know.

The crunch of the steps does not frighten her. They're not sneaky; if they were sneaky she'd be scared. Those who try to be quiet have something to hide.

Still, she turns her head. It's Brienne of Tarth's squire.

He must be her age, not much older, or maybe the kind faced just look young. Years ago she might not have found him attractive, but now she rather likes the way he looks.

"Your name?" she asks nonchalantly, startling him. He raises an eyebrow "I didn't frighten you, did I?" he's trying to be calm, but Sansa sees the way his hands fidget.

"No, your name."

Clearing his throat he answers "I'm Podrick Payne, I prefer Pod though, I served your husband Lady Stark."

Sansa shakes her head "I'm Alayne Stone, a bastard, which is all you shall call me." She is still weak; she wants him to recognize her.

"Jaime Lannister sent Lady Brienne of Tarth to protect you; he owes a debt to your mother. Your, I mean, Tyrion Lannister is about to be sentenced to death." Pod stutters.

The words sink in, Tyrion doesn't deserve to die, but neither did her father. The world isn't fair. Jaime Lannister is no kind man, he simply cannot live with a debt, he is a Lannister after all.

"Will you protect me Pod, will you be here for me?"

He nods vigorously and she smiles, takes a step closer to him. "Then help me forget" she whispers.

She has long forgotten the stories of knights and princes; they are just stories after all.

"What do you mean my lady?" he asks, his pupils widen and she knows how he feels. "I'm a bastard, you'd do best to remember that." She reprimands him, her words breathy on her lips. They are close, he is taller than her, awkward, but she is fine with that. Well poised men tell lies.

"No, you aren't" he says sternly. Sansa bites her lip, "I've only been kissed by men who have made my life hell."

Pod looks down at his boots "I have only been kissed once. But I shouldn't."

"No, you should, this is how you need to keep me safe." Sansa knows Littlefinger is watching, in a few minutes he will go fuck her Aunt, pretending it is Sansa, pretending it is Catelyn.

She kisses him, his lips are surprisingly soft. It's more tender than any kiss she's had, he puts his hands on her hips, lightly like he's afraid to hurt her. It feels right and she smiles against her lips, it isn't fake, isn't from amusement. It is happiness. Forgetting how to feel is awful, and that's why she slips her tongue into his mouth, surprised when he does not protest. He doesn't taste like wine, she realizes she likes Podrick Payne. She is being selfish.

Pod pulls away looking dazed "How is this keeping you safe?" he asks. Sansa shrugs, "I'm Alayne, my father will have to keep my cover after all."

That night Sansa walks away watching the look of recognition cross his face, she may not want to marry, but she needs Podric Payne.

* * *

Brienne of Tarth approaches her the next day. "You are smart my lady."

Sansa shakes her head, she is not a lady more "I am Alayne, I have to be Alayne, a father cannot marry his daughter." She says bitterly, Brienne gives her a look of sympathy.

"I will stay her, for you. Are you sure? This isn't the only way." Brienne offers.

"My mother's words were family, duty, and honor. I have none of those anymore. I am no longer really Sansa Stark, the one who loved Princes and romance. I will never be a Stark again most likely, I will not spend my days waiting for Littlefinger to get what he wants."

That night her father cannot resist when Podric Payne asks for her hand.

* * *

"I'm a maiden." Sansa murmurs as she sits down on the bed in their temporary room. She'd convinced a reluctant Littlefinger to let them move to a house in one of the outside villages soon after their marriage.

Pod looks at his hands "Me too. Lord Tyrion brought me to the whorehouse one time, I didn't want it though. I talked to them." He blushes.

"Why?" she asks.

He scoots closer to her and takes her hand "I asked how to make a woman feel good. For when it meant something."

Sansa blushes, the whole day had been a quiet affair, as any bastard's wedding would be.

"I could love you." Sansa whispers.

"I will love you." Podrick responds.

His lips are on hers and she's feeling, feeling, feeling, and it's wonderful.


End file.
